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It was the first time, Chris realised, that North had ever asked him for his views on anything.
‘Fine.’ He nodded once. ‘I think it’s fine. It will help position the brand—’
‘Exactly. Positioning.’ There was a pause before North said, ‘Mike thinks it’s a brilliant report too, by the way. So, in recognition of the great job you’ve done,’ he stared at his mobile phone as he began fiddling with it, ‘we’ve decided to reward your hard work.’ He glanced up at Chris abruptly. ‘Got a valid passport?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. You’ll be needing it. We’d like you to take a look at some of the Quantum Change factories in developing countries. First-hand experience. The idea is to develop a strategy on how best to present Quantum Change to the City. But let’s be honest, it’s a bit of a beano, too. You’ll get time to have some fun.’
‘Oh?’ Chris was surprised. ‘When did you have in mind?’
‘There’s a press tour arranged of Starwear’s Jaipur factory, which means you’d need to leave London the day after tomorrow.’
Chris raised his eyebrows.
‘D’you have a problem?’
‘I don’t suppose—’
‘Good. You’ll need to get down to the Indian High Commission a.s.a.p. to sort out a visa. In fact, I suggest you get over there right away.’ He was standing up and making his way to the Boardroom door. ‘Mike really liked the report,’ he repeated on his way out, ‘really liked it.’
North returned to his office, took out the Swiss Army knife he always carried in his pocket, and began peeling an apple. He’d spoken to Treiger in the Boardroom because he hadn’t wanted anyone else to tune in; no one else to listen to him grovelling to that little shit. Especially after learning that Treiger had spent Friday evening in the company of none other than Judith Laing.
He’d been radioed with the news first thing on Saturday and had gone ballistic. Apparently the two of them had spent half the evening shaking off Sol’s boys before going for an intimate stroll in Chelsea. Then, first thing this morning, he gets a call from that shithead Carter; the call he’d been half-expecting ever since he discovered that Judith Laing was a lying little bitch. The only difference was, the call was a lot worse than he’d expected.
She’d dug up the lot: India; William van Aardt and Merlin de Vere; Mark Hunter’s cock-up; Jay’s past business problems. It couldn’t get any worse. Carter had come on the line, throwing toys out of the cot and demanding an explanation. An explanation?! Their ‘understanding’ was all very well when it came to presentational issues, he’d started out in high dudgeon, but as City Editor of The Herald he could not collude in the cover-up of a major international scandal. Jesus Christ, the way the fat ass was carrying on, you’d have thought it was someone else’s spoilt brats they were packing off to Gordonstoun; someone else they’d paid to go on luxury holidays in five-star hotels; someone else for whom they arranged to have the use of a box at the Royal Albert Hall to entertain his blue-blooded friends.
Carter got an explanation all right. North had explained that if Carter ran a single negative story about Starwear, it would be his last as the City Editor of a national paper. Receipts relating to every single ‘hospitality’ benefit he’d ever received from Starwear had been meticulously filed. They would be shown, without hesitation, not only to Carter’s boss, but to his City Editor rivals at all the other papers. In twenty-four hours Carter’s career would be blown. North had slammed down the phone on him.
That had knocked the crap out of him. Gone were all the demands and bluster. Next time he called, Carter was bleating, all sackcloth and ashes, all woe is me and what’s to be done. Deciding he was in a more receptive frame of mind, North had told him exactly what was to be done and when it was to be done by. At the other end, Carter had listened, without even the mildest of protestations, though North could almost hear the pips squeaking.
He’d enjoyed it, thought North, enjoyed showing Carter just who had the leverage in the relationship, who had the power and who was calling the shots. But his pleasure was short-lived. His mobile went off again and it was Jay. They’d already spoken to each other half a dozen times this morning, and it hadn’t been easy.
‘So, what’s news?’
‘I fixed Carter all right. You know all the shit he was giving me? Well, I sorted him out. Made him see who’s boss. And I’ve just seen Treiger—’
‘I didn’t mean that stuff. I expect you to have sorted it. I’m talking about tonight.’
‘Tonight,’ North repeated, frowning.
‘It’s been over a week.’
‘Jay, I just don’t think—’
‘You’re like a broken fucking record. “I just don’t think”,’ he mimicked, ‘“I just don’t think”. I just don’t care what you “just don’t think”! Talking of who’s boss, I don’t pay you for your advice, right? I pay you to fix things.’
‘I know, Jay,’ he whined.
‘And I’m telling you to fix it for tonight.’
‘You know what’s been going on. Things are just so hot at the moment …’
There was a pause before, at the other end, Strauss said, ‘What’s the problem? Don’t you like working for me any more?’
North fumed in silence.
‘Well?’
